The Arandur in Angularis

The former lichlands of Lywall, Lachmeren, Litel, and Gloomvale (and Angularis)

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The Arandur in Angularis

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20 Nomeziooqu, 1639: The Arandur crosses into Angularis at Eribazistaan.

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Hallbjorn
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Re: The Arandur in Angularis

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Very amusing! :up1:
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Re: The Arandur in Angularis

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Ermure 22 Laemill, 1639: The Tarjeida, the Elw festival of atonement for failing to resist the usurpation of the Principate by the Usurper Loki, was celebrated by two weeks of feasting, at the culmination of which effigies of Loki were showered with dung and offal before being set alight. At midnight on this day Tokaray al-Osman, acting as Augur of Democracy, oversaw the scourging of three chosen descendants of the Houses of families of Loki, Alexander and Erion for their ancestors perfidy in failing to acknowledge their lawful sovereign, Tarjei Einhornsson. Each of the three received three strokes of a cane, each stroke representing a year of the usurper's criminal rule. At each stroke the blow was met with a cheer of the assembled nobility, the Arandur's retainers and the general populace. At the culmination of the ceremony the Arandur presented each of the representatives of the three houses with a specially struck medal and a letter of credit for five hundred Thalers in recognition of the yearly service they provided at the Tarjeida.

Also on this day the first elements of the 10th Division of the UDF, known as the Zjandarian Guards, entered the Vale by river ferry at Azeroth.

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Re: The Arandur in Angularis

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Ermure the 16th of Araroqpinu, 1639: The Arandur and his retinue crossed into the district of Metyl Themar and arrived at the Fortress of the Goat.

A convoy of a dozen land cruisers had parked up on the side of a winding and pitted dirt track. On the left of the track, which happened to be to the west, stretched mile after mile of conifers. As far as one could discern the trees carried on back from the road almost an equal distance in depth as they did in length. These were new trees, no more than ten years old, planted at regular intervals with very little foliage or undergrowth beneath the canopy. A commercial forestry plantation then, and whoever owned it was making an effort to manage it. To their right was a stretch of scrubland, perhaps not even five hundred yards back from the road and then cliffs, where, beneath them, flowed the Blue Elwynn its accustomed vigour down towards Ardashirshahr. Against this swift and relentless current sailed the barges and longships, the only vessels narrow enough to pass through the step locks and gates of the great West Elwynn Dam, loaded to the gunwales with the consumable stores, munitions, and spare parts that the UDF in Angularis always, for some reason, seemed to be critically short of.

Ahead of the parked convoy, along the long and twisty road to Metyl Themar and the north, jutted out into the river a towering rocky promontory which loomed over the dirt track which gloried in the ill-deserved appellation of a main road as it narrowed into a pass between the basalt edifice and the cliffs leading down to the river some distance below. It was a natural bottleneck, meaning that it was perhaps no surprise that the outcrop was capped by a grim fortress hewn from the same dark rock upon which it stood.

“Before you,” said Deimos Jasonides, the perpetually spry yet harassed factotum, without much enthusiasm, “stands the castle that is known in Babkhi as the Fortress of the Goat. So called because you would have to be able to climb like one if you wanted to reach the castle without staying on the path.”

“Fortunate then,” huffed Daniyal Dravot, “that they widened it into a road at some point.”

Unfazed, Deimos continued to recite from his notes. “The castle serves as the manor of Lord Arakhsh, who was restored to the land by the Transelwynnese Authority when the land was settled...”

“Hmm. Lord Bear is it?” Mused Thorgils' quietly, as he subtly motioned to Deimos to stop talking. “Tell me.” He said glancing towards Magnhilðr, the Froyanlish high priestess from Azeroth who was still somehow, unaccountably, still with them. “What kind of Babkhi feels at home this close to Metyl Themar? How does his reputation stand in the Pale?”

“Well enough. He made a contribution last year towards the Temple's conducting the Ritual of the Slain Stag. There are no boundary or labour disputes.” She answered with a slight flick of her silver blonde hair before quietly adjusting the hood of her full length blue robes. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting his lordship but he has never been the cause of any trouble that I would know of.”

Thorgils' glanced across to Tokaray al-Osman, the olive skinned skinhead had a look of thoughtful concentration on his face. “How about you? If this chap had any ties to the other side, you'd know of them I'd wager.”

The thoughtful look transformed into a scowl. “If he has, he never revealed them to me. Sure, I passed through here back in 34, but pass through was all that I did. He accorded me guest rights for one night. Said it was what was due to one of the old blood. Other than that, he said I was to pass beyond his lands by nightfall the next day or else, Osmani or no, he'd be obliged to inform the Cudgellers. I won't repeat what I swore to do to him the next time we met.”

“Well, you won't be doing it on this occasion.” Thorgils said mildly. “Or any other time, if you care about that amnesty at all.”

“So long as you have my daughter – I care about that amnesty.” Tokaray answered in a level tone. His dark eyes meeting Thorgils gaze with a stubborn glare.

“Of course, and she's such a bonny little thing.” Answered Thorgils cheerfully, baiting him further. “Eliza simply adores her. Every day its 'Azardokht this' and 'Azardokht that'. I did forward you that finger painting she did the other day, didn't I?”

“You did.” Tokaray answered. “And every other day I give thanks for the modern marvel that is the Elwnet.” he added without any great evidence of enthusiasm. “I am glad that Azardokht gives your” He paused as if trying to form a distasteful word, “- 'partner' -” that was it, he's spat it out, “such pleasure with her company.” He knew the game of course. He'd played it himself often enough. While Thorgils insisted on visiting every damned manor holding along the Shore of Angularis between Eribazistaan and Tielion Loki, Tokaray was expected to trail along as his obedient lapdog, betraying confidences, turning lackeys, allowing Thorgils to slowly pick apart the seams of the Dark Ocean Society. So long as Eliza Carstens had Azardokht sat on her knee, and no doubt burbling happily, back in the Palace of One Thousand Columns in Ardashirshahr, Thorgils could be confident that Tokaray would continue to play his allotted role to perfection. Leverage was a wonderful thing – so difficult to acquire, yet such a pleasure to employ.

The sound of a speeding vehicle bounding along the track caught Thorgils attention and he turned to face northwards. Dravot and al-Osman both unholstered their incongruously named Shirley 9mm Pistols, the world had been awash with them since the Euran War, and took up a firing stance in anticipation. Magnhilðr gripped the hilt of her ceremonial dagger, which, for the moment, remained still firmly in its sheath. Deimos had the decency to look embarrassed. The ladies of the Valkyrjēored snatched up their rifles and rushed to the far end of the column to join the Stratiots who already crouching and lining their sights on the blind turn in the road ahead. The Valkyrjēored had at least, much to Thorgils relief changed into some more functional tactical attire, compared to the questionably tailored cocktail dresses they had first paraded in. It had only taken Kaðlín four goes at bellowing rather pointed obscenities in their general direction to effect the change. The Merkismaðr was a rather no nonsense lady and it was probably a bad idea for anyone to defy for too long someone who cheerfully wore the Totenkopf.

Meanwhile Carnehan staggered past, swearing furiously and carrying an old OAH-BK machine carbine of the sort that looked as though it ought to be mechanically impossible to fire such a contraption. Babkhan engineering at its finest, Thorgils thought ruefully. Carnehan then paused, squinted at the firing line being formed up at the head of the convoy and turned to glance towards where Thorgils, Dravot and the rest were standing. Turning to walk towards them, Carnehan clearly decided that his place was amongst the VIP's. Thorgils wasn't entirely sure he agreed on that particular notion.

“Dravot” he said, turning to Carnehan's long time associate who had, by virtue of being comparatively sober and available, found his way onto the Board of the ESB. “Take Peachy and go fetch up the GPMG. Better to be safe than sorry.”

Dravot nodded and went to leave just as Carnehan came up and overheard Thorgils' instruction – to which he instantly objected. “What? But Billy Fish can bring that up in double quick time.”

“And if you help him, it'll be done in treble quick time.” replied Thorgils with a slight edge of disdain.
Carnehan looked as though he was on the verge of expostulating when Dravot cut him off. “Come along Peachy, let's be doing as the gentleman says, it's what the Quality here are paying us for.”

As the pair jogged off towards the back of the column of vehicles, in the direction of a bemused looking Billy Fish who was gamely trying to gather up a bundle of ammunition belts, Thorgils thought he could hear a remark that sounded distinctly similar to 'Quality my Arse' drift back in his direction.

The vehicle that had been a long time in coming finally roared into view. It was a land cruiser, of the same type as their own, but that need not guarantee anything. The vehicle slowed as it approached the convoy, but it did not stop. A Valkyrjēor stepped forward and raised her left arm, extending her hand out to firmly signal that the vehicle was to halt. Thorgils clutched at his revolver, reflecting that it had been twenty-three years since he'd last tried to intentionally shoot someone, and that he'd missed on that occasion. This wasn't the style of fighting he was used to. This wasn't the butchers shambles in Shirekeep's old town. This wasn't lurking in shadow's with an abattoir mallet. This was exposure. He wasn't Limpfoot Gils any more. He was a target. Potentially, the target. For the first time in a long time, he felt a tangled knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach.

The dirt splattered grey land cruiser slowed to a halt. The engine cut out. Cautiously the Valkyrjēored fanned out across the road and began to move towards the vehicle. Instructions were shouted. One of the girls gingerly advanced towards the passenger side door of cruiser, tentatively reached forward, hesitantly turning the handle with her left hand whilst the right hand firmly gripped a carbine pointed at the passenger window. The door slowly opened, and the Vanic Guard snapped upright to attention, her carbine swung smartly into the shouldered arm position. A figure now stepped out from the open door, seemingly of a female cast to her body, her head sporting a dark fur shako with a silver emblem. Thorgils slammed his revolver back into his holster and swore, in a combination of relief and exasperation. Even at this distance he could recognise the black and silver Stratioti interpretation of a Hussar uniform. Kaðlín. And now beside her stood a tall gaunt man with a close trimmed reddish-brown beard. A man wearing a leather jerkin over a UDF field uniform. Ecthgow. The scouting party had returned.

*

"Khak too Saret! Bisho'ur! Idiots! What the fuck were you playing at?" enquired Tokaray, giving full voice to his idiomatic mother tongue, as Kaðlín Quickdraw and Ecthgow the Silent as they walked up to where Thorgils and his fellow travellers were now stood.

“I'm inclined to agree with our friend here.” Thorgils chimed in. “Could you not have called in to let us know you were coming back.”

“Our radio packed up. Made in Monty Crisco piece of shit.” Ecthgow summarised succinctly for the benefit of those gathered in earshot.

“Another ESB exercise in profit maximisation?” enquired Kaðlín, her face and voice an essay of unimpeachable innocence. Both Tokaray and Magnhilðr barely troubled themselves to disguise their smirks.

“I'm sure the contract was fairly tendered and awarded.” murmured Thorgils, suddenly short on conviction. “Anyway the important thing is that we didn't waste bullets wrecking a perfectly serviceable pick-up truck. I assume you both have something to report?”

“Over to you, big guy.” said Kaðlín as she gently elbowed the taciturn man to her left in the ribs. Thorgils was left wondering when the pair had started to become so familiar with each other, or whether it was just Kaðlín being familiar with him.

“Lord Arakhsh bids the Arandur of Alalehzamin and Utasia welcome to his keep and to his halls. All those who travel with the Arandur are to be his honoured guests. He hopes that you will take the opportunity to discuss the matter of his confirmation as Lord of his ancestral manor over dinner this evening.” Ecthgow rattled off the points crisply and was silent.

“I'm sure he does.” replied Thorgils, who was quietly impressed – this was probably the most he had heard Ecthgow say in weeks. “How did he seem?”

“Seem, Lord?” Asked Ecthgow, puzzled.

“You're a scout aren't you?” Answered Thorgils. “Tell me what your eyes saw.”

“Thin my Lord. Taller than I am, but thinner. Not yet old, but in his forties at least. Clean shaven with a hooked nose. Babkhi in appearance and dress. Clothes are of good quality but old. He had patches on his elbows. Threads had frayed on his cuffs but they had been repaired, more than once. Hair is black and curled. Artfully. He... he wore eyeliner my Lord.”

“Eyeliner? The Babkhi never cease to amaze me.” Thorgils shook his head. “He has his clothes darned but he has money to waste on cosmetics. He sounds like a curious individual.”

“A crank.” interjected Tokaray.

“I beg your pardon?” replied Thorgils.

“Remember, I've met him before. Even back in 34 he was a Zurvanite revivalist, one of those 'back to the Gathas' types who'll come at you with pamphlets if you have the misfortune to walk past them on a weekend stroll. I doubt being holed up in a castle with no-one to contradict you will have done anything to help with that. Did he have pets?” Tokaray enquired of Ecthgow.

“Pets?” Ecthgow looked to Thorgils, who nodded. Ecthgow continued “Dogs and cats that I saw. Parrots that I could hear but not see.”

“Oh, dogs and cats” sighed Tokaray. "Have a care talking to this one. So much as mention or even hint at mentioning something about a snake or a rat and he'll have your ear off lecturing you about the righteous fight against noxious creatures. Did you know we have Mobads who dedicate their entire lives, their religious vocation, to killing frogs and toads. I suppose it beats killing Elfinshi.”

The looks that Kaðlín and Magnhilðr cast in Tokaray's direction upon hearing that last remark could not be regarded as friendly. He didn't seem to mind.

“Less problematic.” ventured Thorgils, attempting to be diplomatic. “But be that as it may, someone on this estate is making an effort to manage it as a going concern.” he said as he gestured to the maturing rows of conifers. “It may be this Lord is a damned fool, in which case there is someone on his staff in need of a promotion. But we won't know that until I've had the pleasure of at least meeting the man. So lets mount up and go pay the man a visit... oh, 'Mikill Wotan'... where are the blessed Simrani sisters? Somebody go find them. I don't suppose that the  Ra-Lariat  woman will be too enamoured of us leaving her to chaperone the two of them this whole time.”

Even Tokaray, who, by dint of marriage, had become more acquainted with Miranda Simrani-Kalirion that he might otherwise have liked, chuckled at that as they turned and walked away towards their respective vehicles.


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Re: The Arandur in Angularis

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Hallbjorn wrote:Very amusing! :up1:
I second that motion. :-D
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